Brazen
by Emerald
Summary: A dark exploration of Ethan and how he deals with Theresa's death.
1. Prologue: Ghosts

_**Prologue: **_**Ghosts**

I had never believed in true love until I met Ethan Winthrop.

He picked me out of the line only four days ago. But it seems like it's been a lifetime since then. I remember his eyes. I could tell that they used to be a sharper blue than they were. A film of pain clouded his irises that dulled their natural color. When he first looked down at me, I could immediately see that there was something different about him. He didn't look at me like I was something to eat, or something to use; I was a means to an end for him.

But the end of what, I wasn't quite sure.

Ethan was a job, like any other man I'd met. His pockets were lined with my money. A few hours with him and I'd be able to pay rent for the month, maybe even buy the new pair of shoes that I'd been eyeing but couldn't afford. So when he chose me out of Sandy's line, I was almost excited. Sandy had told me that another customer turned me down because I was too petite for him. But that didn't seem to bother Mr. Winthrop.

When the door closed behind the other girls, I was prepared—just not enough.

When he spoke, his voice was laced with the tight squeezing of his throat as if he were always on the verge of crying. His eyes, if he let silence linger too long, began shining with threatening tears. When I could see the genuine pain that he felt, I wanted to do everything in my power to make it go away. I wanted to help him.

I can still remember his kiss on my lips. It was as if he were making a wish with his mouth on mine. For a brief instant, I pretended that he was really kissing me. And I was able to lose myself in the love that I couldn't even begin to fathom.

Was he luckier? Or was I the lucky one?

To know such a love was what some waited their entire lives for. Yet, the pain it caused him seemed unbearable. No one can know what life will bring. But I often wonder if he had known the course the future would take, would he still have chosen to follow his path to her?

Darkening clouds move over my head and I have to brace my black shawl tighter around my shoulders as the wind picks up. I am the only one left at the site. It's been hours since everyone else left, but I felt the need to stay next to him a little longer. I can't lie to myself and say that I didn't find love in him. But how could any woman not love a man that could willingly choose to love another so passionately that it hurt his very soul? Was it his pain that I fell in love with? Or was it the tenderness that he showed me that no other man had?

I still can't know the answer to my questions. And I'm sure that I never will. But I am sure that if he'd let me, I would have loved him for the rest of my life. But my love wasn't what he needed. He needed something else… _someone_ else.

The clouds are becoming more and more menacing and I'm sure that I'll feel the chill of the rain soon. But I still feel that I have to stay next to him. When I first heard, it felt as if something were being ripped from my chest—it was a part of me that I'd never get back. I'm still not quite sure how, but Ethan Winthrop managed to get into my heart. He warned me, told me not to. But I couldn't help it.

I'll love him forever. That I know. Not a day will go by that I won't think of what I could have had with him. The guilt still floods into my bones when I think about what I helped him do. I could have stopped him, I should have stopped him. But when he looked at me with eyes full of more pain than even I could bear, I had no choice; he was dying inside anyway.

No.

He died that day her eyes closed and never opened again.

Looking over to my left, I see the gray stone that marks her resting place. Something in me burns with hatred and jealousy for the woman that could take him from me, even in death. Yet, I could almost hear her smiling at me, mocking my hatred. As if I had a choice. As if I had a hold on him. As if I could take him from her.

_He was always mine…_ the wind whispers against my ears.

My head whipped back down to the stone that had her name carved into it. A scowl almost escaped my lips and I had to bite down to make sure it didn't. As the seconds passed, so did my anger. I knew she was right. She had always been right. Even before they'd met, they belonged to each other.

"I know," I answered into the air.

I remembered the day that he asked me to be Theresa. He'd said her name with such caution, almost as if he were afraid of the name itself. I agreed, not sure of the persona that I was taking on. I should have known that the reverence that he'd held in her name could never be matched. I think about it now and hate myself for ever trying to take her place.

The wind picked up, the sky beginning to swirl harder. I saw a brief flash far off across the cliffs and I knew the storm would be over me soon. But I still felt that I needed to stay. Something inside was telling me that I needed to see something to really have closure. I didn't feel that I would ever be able to give up on Ethan, but I knew that it would never make a difference now, anyway. He was gone.

The wind brushed against my face, but softer this time, as if something were shielding me from the growing storm. My eyes closed, making me really feel the wind on my skin. Against the blowing air, I could feel the wind wrap around my cheek and circle around my waist as if it were holding me. Opening my eyes, I could suddenly hear the voice that I thought would only exist in my dreams from now on.

_Thank you, Rachel_…_ Thank you..._

His deep voice brushed against my ears so soft I wasn't sure if I'd really heard him. I tried to search for it again, focusing to listen carefully. I wanted him near me again. I wanted his tenderness, the pained and destroyed man that I only dreamed of holding.

_It's okay… Let me go…_

Searching across the lawn, I wanted to see him. I wanted his open arms around me. I hoped I'd see him running towards me, his voice yelling to tell me that everything had just been a dream. But he wasn't there. The trees and stones stayed as motionless as they always were.

A few drops of rain were beginning to fall and I could a few spots take shape on some of the closer stones. That was when I saw him. I think. I still can't be sure, but when I really focus on the wind, I can almost hear him laughing.

Across the lawn, next to one of the bigger trees, I saw two shapes. At first, I figured it was just a shadow left by the tree. But as I looked up to see that the sun was now covered in the blackening clouds, I knew that they were no shadows. Looking closer, I could make out two distinct figures. The one on the left wore a dark dress. The other wore a light shirt and dark pants. Their hands were intertwined.

They seemed to be walking away from me, yet as I stared after them, they turned to look at me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. With a smirk over his shoulder, Ethan smiled at me. I hadn't seen him so relaxed, so happy, in the few days I'd known him. And a part of me knew that I never would have seen it. The woman at his side waved at me with her free hand. She was shorter than him by at least a foot, slight and petite. Her dark hair fell to her middle back and hung loosely around her face. And even from across the lawn several yards away, I could see her eyes were the light color he'd spoken of.

They turned to each other, their eyes connecting. Watching them now, I knew that I had no right or reason to be angry. They belonged together. Ethan's free hand reached out slowly to her face, stretching across her cheek. As if in slow motion, they came close together until their mouths touched. At first, a jealousy sprung inside of me. Yet, as I watched, it melted into something I didn't expect: hope. I watched them embrace passionately, a certain tenderness evident in them.

The hope in my chest grew. I suddenly wished to find a love like they'd had. Correction: they had. A love like theirs, the love I hoped to find, was one that would never die no matter what happened. It would live on. And I knew that for the rest of eternity, they would be together, traveling through destiny hand-in-hand.

They didn't break apart, their arms wrapping around each other even tighter. Watching them, I was mesmerized by how much their love touched me. The stronger they loved, the stronger I felt. It was almost as if my heart were going to explode, not able to contain so much at once. And then they began fading. They didn't break apart, but their image was being blown away by the wind. Suddenly, they were gone.

I looked back down to their stones, put side by side, and knew that they felt peace. I could no longer miss Ethan. He was happy now, at peace with the woman he gave up his life for. When he told me that his life was empty without her, I couldn't believe him. I wanted to erase his pain. Now I saw how naïve I really was. No matter where he was, where he existed, he was with the love of his life.

The rain kept falling, a little harder now and I made sure my shoulders were completely covered by my shawl. Each drop seemed to wash away the grief I had felt only minutes ago. Somehow, seeing Ethan with Theresa, I felt at ease, much more capable of believing in what he'd told me.

I believed now. True love was real. And it was waiting for me, out there, somewhere. And I would find it.

I looked up to the sky, and then across the lawn where I'd just seen something that didn't seem possible. Then I looked down to their stones and saw something that I hadn't noticed before. At first when I came to St. Mary's Cemetery, their stones were separate, two blocks that sat very near to each other. Now, as I looked down, I realized that the space had been filled and it was only one stone. They were joined; forever.

"Thank you," I whispered into the wind, hopeful that they would hear me.

Ethan's deep laugh echoed in the silence of the rain, and I knew he had.

_Thank you…_, the wind said in a lighter voice. _Thank you for giving him back to me…_


	2. Brazen

_**Chapter 1: **_**Brazen**

Ethan stood in front of the dark establishment, the blinking pink light flashed the black granite of the street. He looked down at the withered card in his hand. Why he still had it with him, he wasn't sure; he knew the place well, the address and phone number memorized by heart. Still, having the card with him made him feel secure in making sure that he wouldn't lose what he had come to need so much more than he wanted.

_Ethan…_

Shaking his head lose of the imaginary sounds, Ethan focused on the bright pink lights that were shaped into the form of a woman's body. With another glance at the card covered in countless fold lines, Ethan slipped it in his back pocket and headed for the front doors. The doormen recognized him as a regular and nodded as he walked past them. Neither ever said anything to him, neither had to. They didn't know his business or why he came. And honestly, Ethan rathered they think him a pervert or a lonely old fool than find out what he really got out of going to Brazen.

As he walked into the dimly lit room, Ethan waved casually at the owner. She smiled at him before handing a guy at the bar a beer. She finished up with a few more customers before she made it over to Ethan's usual table.

"Hey," she said as casually as she always did.

Ethan looked up at her and never failed to notice just how weathered her skin was. Perhaps from years of performing under lights for men that would see her naked had taken her youth. The crow's feet that danced around her eyes when she spoke grew deeper every time he saw her. But she wasn't who he went there for.

"Hi, Sandy," he said, just as he always did.

"What can I get you tonight?" she asked, pulling out the pad from her belt.

Ethan scanned the room before answering. There was a new girl working there. He'd noticed her as soon as he'd walked in. Frequenting a place at least once a week would make a fresh face stick out immediately. He stared at her, wondering.

"The usual," he said to her stiffly.

Sandy smiled and pulled the pen from behind her ear. She scribbled something quickly before looking back up to him. "What you got last time?"

Instead of looking at her to answer, Ethan found his attention distracted to the women on stage, searching them for answers. He simply nodded and barely noticed as Sandy left his table.

All the women up there were beautiful. But it wasn't a question of beauty. It never was. But Sandy knew what he wanted; she hadn't let him down yet. Just as Ethan's mind filled with what he needed to forget, he pressed himself harder to focus on the girls. He noticed Rose and Sasha staring at him, both probably thinking the same thing about him. They probably pitied him above all else. But he didn't care.

Lost in his thoughts, Ethan barely noticed Sandy approach his table again. He turned to her quietly, the same blank expression on his face as when she had first spoken to him.

"We're ready for you, Ethan," she said with a small smile.

"Thank you." Getting up from his usual table, he realized that he really meant it. His personal hell had gotten steadily worse in the past few days. Another night that way and he was sure that he would have gone insane.

Ethan didn't need any coaching as he followed Sandy down the familiar hallway to a back door. Through the back door, he followed the familiar staircase that took him to another hallway. And without needing to be told, he opened the second door on the left and stepped in alone.

The room was dark and Ethan's hand immediately went to the wall to scan for the switch. When the light went on, he made sure the door was closed and took the only seat that was in the room. The small foldable chair faced a scarlet curtain that cut the room and spanned from ceiling to floor. He waited, his patience growing thinner and thinner as the pain started creeping back into his mind.

_Ethan…_sighed an invisible form.

Ethan waited, his impatience steady. The silence around him was what he was afraid of. Whenever he stopped moving, whenever a room pulsed with quiet, she came for him like daggers to his chest.

"_Ethan…God, I love you… I love you more than my own life. I mean, I could never love anyone the way I love you. I want you to look into my eyes and know what's in my heart."_

_And he had. Whenever he looked into her eyes, it was as if he could feel himself falling into a pool of light. _

"_I love you… with all of me," she whispered. _

_Somehow, his chest felt as if it were going to rupture with all that he felt in that moment. "I know you do." He smiled, taking a step closer to her. "I feel the same way." _

_Without allowing her time to say anything else, Ethan wrapped his hand behind her head and took her mouth with his, igniting their powerful flame. _

Blinking and forcing his memory cleaned, the brief moment that his lids were down, her eyes flashed to him; molten honey that shined brighter than he could imagine.

"No," he said to no one.

And he forced himself to think of Sasha from the week before. Her strawberry blonde hair had brushed against his chest when she had leaned over him. He remembered counting the freckles on her shoulder as she slept next to him. Some were almost a dark brown, some a mere tint in a small circle over her skin. When she looked at him, her light blue eyes seemed strange to him. But she was different and that was what he needed above anything else. To make him forget…

There was a knock at the door and only a split second later, a train of half-naked women all dressed in matching silver bras and panties walked in. Ethan didn't count them, fully knowing that seven were always picked and sent down. Sandy was the last one, but she didn't line up in front of Ethan as the other girls did. Instead, she stayed behind Ethan and made sure the door was locked.

Unlike Sandy, the women were young, some much too young to be standing in front of him the way they were. With perfect bodies that were toned with daily spins on a long pole, they stood straight and slender in front of him. Yet, they all had the air of serenity as if they'd never have a problem with what they were doing. But Ethan always had to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Before he started frequenting Brazen, he had been one of the men that found places like it quite disgusting. He felt sorry for the women that performed and wondered how much they hated the men that ogled them on a daily basis. Now, it was his refuge place; therapy for a broken soul.

The women stood in front of Ethan, some eyeing him, some staring at the wall behind him. But he scanned them all. The first one, he had decided against as soon as she'd walked in. And the fourth as well. But two, three, five, six, and seven…

"One and four," Ethan spoke softly into the silence of the room, dismissing them.

Without a word, Sandy unlocked the door and slid out of the way for the first and fourth girls to slip out. Then everyone waited for Ethan's next verdict.

Sasha, number three, stared at him, a small smile on her face as if she felt some superiority and assuredness to get picked. But Ethan surprised her.

"Three, five, six," he said after a long moment.

The three girls filed out and the three remaining women in the room waited patiently. Surprising them, Ethan got up from his seat and went to Seven. He stood right in front of her, towering at least a foot above her. He liked that.

"Two."

Quickly, and without saying anything else, two and Sandy rushed out of the room. Ethan waited for the door to close before he turned back to Seven. He stared at her and the longer he stared, the more nervous she got. He could feel how nervous she was. But she didn't look down. He liked that, too.

"You're new here," he told her.

Staring straight at him still, she nodded without speaking.

Without saying anything else, Ethan went to the side of the room and grabbed a dark cord hanging from the curtain. Pulling the cord, the curtain swung to one side of the room, revealing a large bed that hid behind it. Noticing the bed, Seven stared in shock and walked slowly in the direction.

"Don't be afraid," Ethan told her.

She turned back to him quickly, her dark hair spinning around her neck. "I'm not."

Her voice was deeper than he expected. But it didn't matter. He'd alter it in his mind to fit what he needed to hear.

Ethan walked to her, his instincts beginning to take over. And he could see in Seven's eyes that hers were as well.

Seven took a step closer to him, bringing their bodies close before she said anything. "So… what's your name?"

Ethan's hand reached out and let his fingers fall against her skin from her shoulder down her arm. It was smooth.

"Ethan," he responded.

She repeated his name and took another step towards him. Letting her hands rest on his chest, she could immediately feel the warmth of his skin from underneath his shirt.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

She grinned the sexy smile she had been taught only a few days ago. "What do you want it to be?" As she asked, she wondered what his choice would be. Madonna? Maybe he was a psycho. Chloe? Maybe he liked good girls. Jenna? Maybe he was a freak.

He almost scared her when his hands went to her ears and traced her hair out of her face. "Theresa," he whispered. As soon as he said the name, his throat felt as if it would rip open in flame. But it also gave his mind a quelling peace that he needed.

Seven smiled before she kissed his lips quickly. "Theresa…? Yeah… I'll be Theresa for you, baby," she whispered. "What? Did she dump you? You wanna teach her a lesson?" she asked, her voice filling with a naughty tone that Ethan wasn't interested in hearing.

That's when he felt Seven's fingernails. Her hands, once relaxed on his chest, contracted and clawed her fingernails against his skin, even through his shirt.

"Ah," he breathed, taking her hands in his and making them relaxed again. "No," he told her. He let a moment pass and he stared at her. With every new girl, he had to go through this. Maybe he should have picked two. He would have been able to skip introductions with her. "Are you going to be Theresa for me?" he asked, his throat flaming at the word.

"Oh, yeah," she said forcefully, pulling herself closer to him.

"No," he said, stopping her. "No. She didn't dump me." Then it was hard for him to find the words. But he knew that whether he kept them in or let them out, they weren't any less true. "She's my wife." Right away he noticed her eyes grow. "Was going to be my wife," he corrected. "We didn't have a chance to get married."

Seven nodded her understanding. "She didn't want to marry you?"

Suddenly, Ethan's mind was screaming. He had been fighting memories for days. Now, his sanctuary, the only place that made the pain ebb even in the slightest, was pressing him for even more memories. Then a small, tender memory came rushing into him like a raging comet. He could suddenly feel her arms on his shoulders and her waist in his hands as they gently swayed to a low-playing jazz song. His imagination assaulted him with her smell in his nose, the light in her eyes. He couldn't take it.

_Taking his cheek from hers, he pulled back to look at her. Every time he looked at her, he couldn't believe how much he loved her. _

"_I didn't think I could love you any more," he told her softly. "And you proved me wrong."_

_She smiled, her eyes getting brighter just as they always did when she looked at him."How?"_

_"Just by being you."_

_Theresa nodded and toyed with the neckline of his shirt with her fingertips. "I feel the same way about you. I love you more with every breath you take."_

_Ethan's smile grew into a small laugh at her words. "Have you stopped to think how amazing our future is going to be?"_

_"That's actually all I think about." Quickly envisioning how happy they would be when they were finally married, Theresa's smile grew larger and the light in her eyes multiplied.  
_

_"Me too," he admitted. "When you marry me… It'll be perfect."_

_"I hope so," she sighed. And they both shared the same thought. Over the years that they'd tried to get married, something always went wrong. _

_"Oh, you trust me," Ethan assured. "Trust me. Nothing's going to keep us from being together. Not this time. Nothing."_

_Theresa smiled up at him before he kissed her next. They ended up making love for the entire night on the couch, reveling in their hopes for the future. _

And he quickly had to blot out the rest of the memory from gathering presence in his mind. When the memory faded, Ethan cursed himself. He had told her that they would be together—he'd find a way. And she had trusted him to find a way. But he didn't. Worse than before, not only were they not together, but they never would be again.

"Listen…," Ethan said forcefully, shaking his head to clear his brain of the memory. "Theresa…. She wasn't my ex, she didn't dump me, she didn't cheat on me, okay?" He didn't allow her to speak before he continued. "I don't want to punish her. You," he corrected. He walked towards her very slowly, his face extremely close to hers. "I'm going to make love to you."

Ethan had to fight himself to not conjure up a memory of being with Theresa. That was something he always had to keep himself away from. Making love to Theresa figuratively and imaginatively was different from recalling what it was actually like and how much he missed what he would never have again.

Seven's eyes didn't leave his, her mind still focusing on his last statement. She'd never heard a customer use that phrase. She had grown accustomed to men making her their fantasies. She'd been Salma Hayek, Angelina Jolie, JLO, and even pretended to be Pamela Anderson with a wig once. They were always the same; wanting to dominate the women they wanted more than anything. And she'd always taken it. Some men tied her up, some grabbed her throat, some slapped her ass. But it was what she did.

Now, she had a man in front of her—a very attractive man at that—that wanted to make love to the woman that would have been his wife. Something inside of her suddenly screamed for the poor man. It was obvious that he still loved the woman more than she could tell. All of a sudden, Seven wasn't sure if she could make love. She wasn't sure what that entailed as far as being with a customer. She was so used being submissive and rough with the men that paid her for her services.

"I…I…," Seven stuttered at a loss of what to do or what to say.

Ethan stared at her, his hands on both sides of her face. He had gotten much the same reaction from Sasha and Rose when he'd first met them. Before Seven could hesitate, he gently pulled her mouth to his and kissed her lips softly. He closed his eyes as he kissed her, only feeling her soft lips against his. Not opening his eyes, he did it again, but held the kiss against her mouth for a beat longer.

Seven's mouth quivered, her uncertainty showing through. She wasn't sure how to kiss back and really _kiss_ back. With every other man she'd been paid to be with, he had always come at her with his tongue already out. Ethan was more different than she could have imagined.

"I won't hurt you," Ethan promised against her mouth.

Seven stared into the blue eyes that were only an inch from hers. "I know."

Ethan gently reached around Seven's small waist and up to the clasp on her bra. With a simple twist, it was undone. He could immediately feel the release of tension and the straps hung loose on her shoulders. Still not taking his eyes from hers, he slid the straps from her arms and let the bra fall to the floor.

Exhaling deeply, Ethan closed his eyes and imagined her in front him. He saw her chocolate eyes staring up at him, her bright smile echoing with certainty. Seeing without seeing, Ethan reached for her arms and felt the smooth skin that he knew he would find. He pulled her close to him, her arms wrapping around him. This was what he needed. He needed to feel her close to him. She had been gone from his life, but he got her back.

Theresa stood before him just as she always had.

And then he opened his eyes.

The petite brunette was before him. But she was wrong. Her hair was shorter, her eyes a darker brown, her skin not the right color, her smile not as bright, her lips not as full… she wasn't Theresa.

But she would have to be.

Once again, Ethan closed his eyes and gave himself over to his imagination. And then Theresa was before him again.

Seven watched as he closed his eyes and pulled her closer. She could tell that he was forcing the image of someone else into his mind. But she didn't mind. Somehow, her sympathy for him almost made her want to be part of his escape and exploration. She wanted to comfort someone so obviously in pain. She wanted to see such a tender man smile.

Engrossed in his fantasy, Ethan sighed. "Theresa…"

At first, Seven froze. She wasn't sure what to do. Her instinct was to react naughtily and respond with something that might have been scripted for a porn film. But that wasn't what he wanted to hear and she wanted him to stay in his imaginative world for as long as he could. Something inside told her that he deserved that much. Without knowing what else to do, she leaned in and brushed her lips with his.

"I'm here," she whispered before kissing him again.

Ethan smiled to himself, an instant happiness as he imagined Theresa's sweet voice taking Seven's words. There was no more Seven. Only Theresa. And him. They were finally together.

"God, I—I," he said trying to fight the choking tears. "I've missed you so much. I've missed making love to you…"

Seven was struck by how deeply she felt for him. If anything, she wanted to be Theresa not only to help him with something that he so obviously needed, but she also wanted to experience being loved by someone; completely and totally.

She kissed him again, this time more urgently. "We're going to make up for it," she whispered. "Right now."

With her sudden taking of the character, Ethan opened his eyes to stare at Seven. She stepped closer to him.

"Close your eyes," she instructed.

She pulled his t-shirt up his body and over his head. His bare chest was hard, the toned lines filling Seven's body with desire. She grabbed his hands from his sides and held them against her breasts.

The soft flesh in his hands sent his mind surging to the past, quicker than he could stop it. But shaking his head, he reined the memory back in and refused to go there. While he could think of Theresa, he could smell her, touch her, see her, he never allowed himself to remember her body against his—he couldn't.

So he had to replace her with new memories that were barely whispers of what he really wanted. He was never fully satisfied, nor did he feel at peace when he woke in the morning lying next to a different woman. His heart couldn't take _feeling_ Theresa. That would surely kill him.

_Ethan_..., a soft voice called.

It was the same voice he'd heard when he was about to make another woman his. And he ignored it every time. He had to.

_I'm sorry_, he thought. _I'm sorry. This is the only way_.

Ethan stared into Seven's eyes then. And he forced himself to recall her body, the planes of her torso and the fullness of her breasts. His palms squeezed lightly against her chest and he immediately felt the blood rushing throughout his body in arousal. Surprising her, he pulled her body against his, his hands falling to cup her behind. He squeezed again.

_I love you,_ he thought into the empty room.

And then he descended on Seven and reveled in the feeling of her smooth and warm body against his. He touched her, he held her, whispered in her ear, kissed her lips and sucked her neck, and for a few hours, his pain was forgotten. The woman that made each passing day without her more agonizing and harder to live through than the last disappeared into silence.

She never pressed him to remember when he was with another woman. The longer he was away from the warmth of a woman's skin, the louder her voice was in his head. He could almost feel her sadness as if it were tangible when he was with another woman. Theresa had promised to always be with him, no matter what. And he knew that she'd kept her promise. But now, with her gone, he sometimes wished her completely vanished. Having her linger around him, but without really being able to be with her, was unbearable.

His heart searched the room around him for any trace of his torment. She was there, but faintly. He could almost feel her. But he refocused his attention on Seven and he could feel that she was disappearing. Ethan pulled back and stared at Seven as if he were memorizing her face for the first time. His thumbs traced over her sharp cheekbones and over her lips to remember the texture there.

Ethan kissed the woman in front of him then, his lips folding around hers forcefully. By the time their clothing was gone, Ethan was sure that he could think about her without feeling the stabbing pain in his chest. And for the briefest of seconds, as Ethan joined his body with Seven's, Theresa was gone. There was no voices, no images, no memories… she was gone. Twisted with the adrenaline and pleasure that was surging in his veins, a deep sadness was beginning to seep in. Just as his heart started to panic, he remembered that losing her was his reason for going to Brazen in the first place.

______


	3. Daylight

_**Chapter 2: **_**Daylight**

Ethan's eyes opened, the room still dim around him. The small window above the bed let little light in, but he knew that the sun wasn't up yet. Looking down, he realized the woman wrapped close to him. Her small hand rested on his bare chest and his instinctively went to cover it.

Then the memory pelted him with a relentless force…

_Waking sluggishly with sharp inhales through his nose, Ethan turned his head to find Theresa's open eyes staring up at him. His hand went to hold hers against his chest and she smiled. _

_"Hi, beautiful," he said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. "Good morning."_

_"Morning." She smiled, turning to him fully. "Did you sleep well?"_

_A devilish grin passed over Ethan's face as he thought about the previous night. "Yeah," he sighed with a smile. "Yeah. You?"_

_Theresa snuggled closer to him. "Yeah. Really good."_

_The two laid together, staring at the ceiling content with the moment. Then a memory from the night before hit Theresa. _

_"We didn't eat the dessert from last night," she informed, hopeful that it was still around._

_Ethan looked up, the smile on his face widening. "Yeah, we did." He pulled her closer, his hand tracing up and down her arm. _

_Theresa's brows scrunched together in thought. "Really? Hmm… What was it?" she asked, turning to Ethan. _

_Ethan continued staring up at the ceiling, the smile on his lips growing. He finally turned to her. But instead of answering her question verbally, he turned his head and took her ear between his lips. He lined the tip of his tongue down to her jaw line and sucked at the base where it met her throat. _

"_Oh…," Theresa sighed. "Right."_

"_Remember?" Ethan asked against her skin. _

"_Oh, I remember. Mmm hmmm…" Ethan laughed and pulled back from her neck. "Yep, it was incredible."_

_Ethan nodded. "That it was. Yeah."_

_Theresa lifted herself up a little, closing in on Ethan's mouth. "Oh… what I wouldn't give for more…"_

_Ethan pulled her waist closer. "Really? You want some more?"_

"_Yeah…," she sighed. _

_Ethan leaned in, teasing her with how close he was. "I think I have a little more where that came from. That's not a problem."_

_Ethan pulled her face to his and kissed her deeply, passionately. Then he began undoing the buttons on his shirt that she had ended up wearing. _

His mind flashed to the present and it only took milliseconds for his eyes to fill red with tears. His throat felt thick as he tried to swallow and he had to fight to breathe properly. Feeling tears about to fall to his face, Ethan removed his hand from Seven's and pinched his eyes shut. He exhaled sharply and mentally told himself not to cry.

"You alright?" Seven's small voice said next to him.

Ethan traced away any signs of moisture from his eyes before he turned down to her. "Morning," he said plainly.

Seven smiled, closing her eyes and stretching her body, pulling her legs down and wrapping closer to Ethan. "Hmm," she sighed satisfactorily. "I've never had that, you know," she said against his chest as she rested her head against his shoulder.

Ethan turned to her in question.

"This—this tenderness. You know, the guys that come in here aren't exactly teddy bears."

She looked up at him and noted that he was looking up at the ceiling again. Sympathy filled her heart then. There was an unspoken sadness that he was fighting. She had been wrong about him. She suspected him another rich guy that had gotten bored with his trophy wife and came looking for excitement. But now she knew that Brazen was his escape from what as really torturing him.

"Tell me about her?" Seven asked softly.

Ethan stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, the old scars being stretched open at the memory that had just invaded his mind. For a second, he questioned just why he was getting memories. Whenever he went to Brazen, he went, got his mind cleared, and left. It was as if he were being given a momentary relief of what he most wanted to escape. But now, everything seemed to scream what he wanted to forget. Perhaps it was her dark hair or her height that made the memories begin to flood back.

As she asked, he began dredging up a few memories that he could bear to remember. But just as easily as he was able to think of only the slightly less painful ones, the ones that threatened to rip through him completely lingered just beneath the surface.

"Uh…," he breathed, unsure if he had the strength to continue. "Theresa was uh… she was… she was beautiful. Full of life, vibrant." He paused there, afraid of opening up more wounds. "And the craziest person I ever met," he admitted.

Seven waited for him to continue, hoping he would. She wanted to know the woman that had so captivated the heart of such an obviously good man.

"No matter how many times we tried to get married, there was always something in the way." He briefly got images of Theresa in various wedding gowns that she'd worn for him, and remembered feeling pride that they had finally made it only to be disappointed later. "But we kept fighting to be together. There was no other option. She was stubborn to a fault." He laughed at the memory. "God, she was stubborn…"

_Was._

The word echoed in Seven's brain just as soon as Ethan had said it. With a sudden maternal instinct, she wanted to cradle him in her arms when she noticed the torment in his eyes.

Her curiosity pressed forward. "What happened to her?"

As soon as she'd asked, she wished she hadn't. His eyes went dark for a second, almost as if he were suddenly lost in an empty memory that threatened to break everything he knew.

Ethan's chest moved farther than usual as he took in a deep breath and took a long while to let it out. He knew what had happened and every time he was forced to think about her floating with her lifeless arms to her sides as if detached, he thought he'd spontaneously combust in his pain.

"She drowned," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Again he cursed himself for allowing the memories of her to come flooding back into his mind. Not wanting to break down in front of a woman that he didn't know, and without knowing anything else to do, Ethan quickly threw the blanket off of himself and sat up. Seven was startled when he moved from her side quickly and she watched him begin picking up his clothes from the floor.

After his clothes were back on, Seven hoisted herself on her elbows and watched him sit back down on the bed, his back to her. She wondered if it was appropriate to say anything. What would she say anyway? Sorry was something she was sure he heard a lot. And also something he probably didn't want to hear anyway. No one would understand what he was going through and it was an insult to assume otherwise—her brother's death had taught her that much.

"How did--?" she began to ask, but was cut off by Ethan's answer to her barely-begun question.

"In the Gulf of Mexico. We went down there to get away, visit with some of her mother's family," he said softly, the story painfully unfolding as if it were around him.

"She couldn't sleep one night. I didn't feel her leave the bed." Then his voice cracked as if he had suddenly swallowed rocks that were cutting into his vocal cords. "She took her uncle's boat out on the water. She didn't even know how to use it." He had to stop to compose himself again. "It was too dark for her to see that she got out too far. A wave must have knocked her off the boat. She was a weak swimmer." And then he pinched his eyes shut again to avoid tears that were coming. "I... uh... woke up when I heard her screams. I ran out of the house and I started swimming to her, but it was already too late. I pulled her back to the dock, I tried to get her breathing again. Her lips were blue." Then the tears started. Either he had stopped caring, or he couldn't fight them anymore. "I held her in my arms... she never opened her eyes again."

Seven hadn't realized that she was crying as he told the story. She took a breath in and felt the shakiness of her chest and that's when she realized that the story had affected her more than she thought possible. Or was it Ethan that had touched her?

"I'm... I'm so sorry," she said without thinking.

Ethan simply let a slight laugh escape his throat. Sorry had become such a numbed word that came to mean as much as the word rock. Or maybe a dagger. Whenever someone apologized to him lately, it was in direct response to what had happened Theresa. And thinking about it sent swords plunging into his entire body as if he were a life-sized voodoo doll.

"I'm sorry," she said again, this time apologizing for apologizing. "I know that's not what you want to hear."

Ethan turned to her, curious as to why she hadn't taken his guffaw as offensive.

"My brother committed suicide two years ago," she answered his unasked question. "I know what it's like."

Granted, she knew nothing of losing the love her life, but she did know that nothing could console a grieving soul.

"What did she look like?" Seven asked him softly.

Thinking about Theresa then, her beauty, sent a warm smile over his lips. He knew that he would never be able to forget what it was like to look at her. He had memorized her face millions of times. Every time he looked at her, he made sure that he etched her into his memory, unable to believe that she belonged to him. Her beauty would live forever in his memory.

Leaning closer to her, Ethan ran his fingers through the hair hanging just over Seven's shoulder. "She had dark hair like you. Longer, though. She was a little shorter than you, came up to here," he said, gesturing just below his shoulder.

Seven watched as he leaned in even closer, his face closer to hers than she thought he would care for in daylight. He brushed her cheek, surprising her with the warmth that spread into her body at that moment.

"Her eyes were… the color of milk chocolate." The image of her bright golden-brown eyes was almost tangible. "I could get lost in them all day."

"You loved her," she whispered. A statement of observation rather than a question.

Ethan let a smile pull at the right side of his mouth. "More than my own life… More than… I can feel at one time…"

With a strong and shaky sigh, Ethan left the bed and walked quickly to the other side of the room. Before Seven could react and move to see what he was doing, Ethan pulled the cord next to the crimson curtain and had it fly across the room.

Confused, Seven stared out at the dark curtain. Then she heard Ethan fall against the wall and suddenly heard his muffled sobs. She was still in the bed for just a moment, unsure of what to do. She'd never had a client start crying on her before. Yet, she'd never had a client quite like Ethan either. The tender maternal feelings came over her again. Quickly pulling the blanket off her naked body and ignoring the chill that came across her skin. Pushing through the side of the heavy curtain, Seven fell to her knees in front of Ethan. He was sitting on the floor, his knees high, face in his hands.

"I don't understand why," he said into his palms. He pulled his hands down and Seven was shocked to se his red eyes and the fresh tears on his face. "Why did she leave me? Why!"

_I'm so sorry…_

Seven didn't know what to do. His pain was slowly seeping into her own chest. She placed her hand on his face and tried to comfort him. He looked up to her, his eyes searching for the answer he'd been waiting to get fro months. But her eyes were just as empty as the answers he'd given himself.

"She didn't want to," Seven whispered through his labored breaths.

Then Ethan locked his eyes on hers. The surprise of the answer mixed with the irrational hope that she somehow knew the truth had frozen him. And again his imagination transformed her into the woman his heart ached to both remember and forget. Without thinking, and not thinking clearly, Ethan leaned forward and kissed her suddenly.

Seven was surprised to feel his lips on hers, but something inside of her reacted in a very strange way. She liked it. Pulling back, Ethan's mind cleared. He knew that it was Seven in front of him.

"I'm sorry."

Seven shook her head. "Don't be."

Ethan's hand lingered on her cheek, stroking down slowly to her chin. Without saying anything, Ethan stood up. Looking down at her, he stretched his hand out to her.

Seven wondered whether or not she should take his hand. There was a weird feeling in the air and she wasn't quite sure why she hesitated. After a beat of uncertainty, she took his hand and stood before him.

Ethan's eyes pressed her tenderly, a new clearness in them. Quietly and softly, Ethan's hand drifted across her cheek and brought her face closer to him, but stopped short of her lips, waiting.

Seven's lips started quivering, both afraid and eager. She closer her eyes and pushed forward to his lips. Again she felt the strange elation as she kissed him. She had almost forgotten that she was naked until Ethan's hands caressed her bare skin. He pulled her body close to him, and Seven clung closer. While her skin was getting heated in sudden desire, than could feel the chill on her body. He pulled back, still holding her.

"You should put some clothes on," he said softly, a smile in his voice. He followed her eyes down to the thrown silver bra and panties she'd worn.

"I'm fine," she said, turning back to him.

Just as she was about to kiss him again, Ethan pulled back slightly.

"What's your name?"

Seven was surprised. A client had never asked her name. Ever. She had to pull her tongue back from her usual "What do you want it to be?" She looked back up to him, her chest filling with the same hesitation.

"Rachel," she whispered slowly. "Rachel Sandsbury."

Ethan stared at her bottom lip and caressed it with the tip of his thumb.

_Ethan…_

"I have to go," he said suddenly. He was afraid of the feelings that Seven—Rachel—was mounting in him.

_Ethan…_

He kissed her suddenly to make the voice disappear.

"Thank you… Rachel Sandsbury."

Without another word, and only a smile, Ethan left the room and closed the door behind him. As he began his ascent to the main level of Brazen, she assaulted his senses again.

_Ethan…Ethan, please…_

The pain he was able to forget for a few hours began seeping back in. By the end of the day, he knew, he would have to return. But why she wouldn't leave him, he didn't know. Brazen was fix enough for at least a few days of numbness. Once, after Rose, he'd even managed to go almost three weeks. But it was the weight of the ocean crushing against a dam much too small to hold it in.

As he ran up the stairs, he forced himself to think of memories of the previous night. Thinking of the smell of Seven's—Rachel's—skin, the other voice got weaker in his ears. Rachel's breasts against his palms faded her with a kind of static. Rachel's neck against his lips silenced her soft voice completely. Satisfied with himself, Ethan searched for Sandy when he reached the showroom floor.

Now daylight, the club looked entirely different. The cloud of smoke had filtered out through the open doors. The light made the place look a lot smaller as if it had stretched in darkness. The floors were in a much worse condition than could be seen during working hours and the silver poles bounced light off the windows.

Spotting him, Sandy walked over to Ethan, a rag in her hands. On her walk over, she lifted a few chairs on top of a few tables and clapped her hands to dust them. "How'd it go?"

Afraid that the vice was going to start creeping into his mind, Ethan grabbed hold of the memories more forcefully than necessary.

"Umm… good," Ethan said with a smile. "Very good."

Sandy smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "She's our new girl," she explained. "Great response so far."

But then, thinking about Rachel backfired. As he thought about feeling her soft and tight walls around him, he also remembered the emptiness that accompanied. While he did his best to escape Theresa's memory for fear of intolerable emotional pain, he was also somewhat comforted because he knew that she hadn't completely left him. And then she crashed on him as she noticed the crack in his solid wall against her.

_Ethan… I'm here…_

"Same time next week?" Sandy asked at his silence. "I can reserve her for you." She winked and already began writing on the last page of her pad.

_I love you… Ethan… _

"No," Ethan said suddenly—both to Sandy and to the invisible voice. "Um, no thank you," he recoiled as he realized that he scared Sandy with his abruptness.

Confused, Sandy stared up at him in question. "But I thought you said…" Sandy scratched out the note she had just written herself on her pad. "What—what happened?"

Ethan could see the sudden disappointment in her eyes and shortly wondered if she would go reprimand her new employee for bad service.

"No, no, it's not that," he corrected quickly. "It was fine. She was great. It's not about that."

Sandy studied him, reading his expression and settled that he was telling her the truth. "What is it then?"

Ethan knew that she was afraid of losing his business. He was, after all, her most loyal customer.

"I… uh… I want Sasha," he said hesitantly.

_Ethan…_

Shaking his head, Ethan freed himself of the pain and focused on the strawberry blond hair that would soon be between his fingers and the freckled skin that would be against his own.

Smiling, Sandy began writing down a few things and looked back up to him happily. "I knew you liked her. So when did you want to reserve it? Next week? The week after?"

Ethan watched her writing, wondering why she had to write so much. Afraid of a coming torture, Ethan brought up memories of Rose and began conjuring up fantasies of what it would be like to have her pressed to him.

"Tonight," Ethan said quickly.

Sandy looked back up to him. "Tonight?" she repeated.

Ethan simply nodded, wondering if she was beginning to judge him. In his silence, she took advantage.

_Please, Ethan… Please…_

Clearing his throat more loudly than necessary, Ethan forced her back.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Tonight. Is that alright?"

Sandy hadn't written anything down after he'd told her when he was returning. Ethan was a regular customer, and definitely not a cop. Sandy had given up her suspicions about him long ago, yet, there was always something that puzzled her about him. He carried so much mystery and darkness around him. In her curiosity, Sandy had pressed the girls about him. But none could ever say anything; they simply said that he was nicer than any other customer had ever been.

"Uh, yes, that would be fine," Sandy agreed, her memories drowning in the present. Again she turned her attention to scribbling some notes to herself on her pad.

Ethan nodded and flinched as the voice in his head was beginning to pound against his consciousness. Noting that Sandy would take care of what he needed, Ethan headed for the front door and some much-needed oxygen.

"Wait!" Sandy called to him just as he turned. "What if Sasha isn't available tonight? Did you want Rachel again?"

Ethan tossed that thought around in his brain. Rachel's dark hair spun across his face, filling his nostrils with her scent and her skin moved against his. Almost like Theresa's…

_Ethan, I'm here… With you… Ethan… _

Ethan closed his eyes, mentally begging her to leave him. The strength he had to remain standing without breaking down was waning; another few seconds of her invading him like that and he was sure that he would have collapsed into a broken mess on the dirty club floor.

"No," he said, curtly. "Sasha." Sandy stared after him, her eyes telling him that he hadn't answered her question fully. "If you can."

And with nothing else, Ethan headed out of the club and into the straining light of day.


	4. Solitude

_**Chapter 3: **_**Solitude**

For the first time since his first trip to Brazen, Ethan regretted not taking his car. He usually walked, content to relish in the details from the night before. Lingering on the woman he'd touched and lost his memories to worked as an anesthetic. Sasha's red hair, Rose's green eyes, Lauren's tall stature, Michelle's short hair, Allison's strong nose… they were all different enough to pull his memory away for just a few hours longer.

But today was different.

Today he lingered on Seven. Rachel. His memories weren't of red hair, green eyes, strong facial features. Instead, he could only focus on her shoulder-length dark hair, her dark eyes, her petite frame, her warm smile. They were all too familiar.

They were all too much like Theresa—the chink in his armor.

Rachel's dark hair—like Theresa's.

Rachel's brown eyes—like Theresa's.

Rachel came to his shoulder—like Theresa.

She was too much like her.

Even when he was pulled into darkness and collapsed on the other side of the curtain, she went to him. Rachel kneeled in front of him, concern in her eyes. She reached out to him, reassured him. Even her compassion made her like Theresa. It was almost as if some supreme being, after learning of his numbing agent, cursed him and forced him to feel what he tried so desperately to forget.

Straining himself, Ethan walked faster and harder against the sidewalk. He could feel the pain beginning to build in his tibias, but he continued to push through it. The pain, if nothing else, was diversion enough to distract him even minutely from what was plaguing him.

Only minutes away from his house, she started breaking through the walls that were weakening by the minute.

_Please… Ethan… Listen to me…_

Ethan could swear that he felt something brush against his ear. Instead, he forced himself to only think of it as wind. Only wind. Nothing else.

He caught view of his front door only a few yards away. For some reason, he felt that if he was able to just reach the door, he'd be safe. Tucked inside, away from anything elemental, in his sanctuary, he would find some sort of peace. Maybe.

His legs burned, the arches in his feet starting to pulse with the force that he pressed down with. Still, he walked quickly through it. Almost breaking into a run, he could vaguely hear the fading of the voice in his ears. The door was within reach and he quickly turned his key in the lock before stepping in. Slamming the door behind him, he finally exhaled.

She was gone. No voices.

Opening his eyes, he almost felt relieved. He was able to escape with something resembling his sanity. But when he opened his eyes fully, he realized just how wrong he was. In trying to escape her outside, he didn't think about the fact that his house—Theresa's house—was a place that he also needed to avoid. Outside was dangerous. His house was a minefield of memory explosions. No place was safe.

The couch in the living room was a simple maroon sofa—her color choice. There was nothing special about it. A simple white afghan was thrown over the arm. But even something so simple was like a burn against him. Flashes of memory spurned inside of him again.

Once, another lifetime for Ethan, they had made love on that couch. She wore a lily in her hair that night to accentuate the soft white and lilac of her dress. And somehow, the lily survived until the next morning when she awoke on top of him, his arms securely holding her against his body.

_Make love to me…_

Ethan wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He wanted to cry.

Not knowing what else to do, he ran through his house until he found the bedroom. Not knowing why, he closed the door behind him. He was wrong again about escaping her; as if a door made of wood and metal could keep her away from him.

It was becoming too much for him to handle at once. He continued to tell himself to focus on Rachel. The one difference he could summon was her kiss. Her lips moved differently than Theresa's. Pushing his pain further down, he recalled Rachel's mouth against his. For a brief second, he was cured. He felt a sudden relief when it felt like Theresa faded away in anger. Smiling to himself, he breathed easy. Feeling lighter, not as pained, Ethan sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his shoulders back. But his safety was quickly taken away with a flash.

Over on the dresser, only a few feet away from him, was the picture that he couldn't bring himself to get rid of.

Upon returning from Mexico, he'd cleansed the house of all her belongings, all her clothes and pictures. That day, he'd grabbed the picture on his dresser, but couldn't bring himself to discard it. It was his favorite picture of her. It always warmed his heart to see how happy she'd been the day they thought they were finally married after everything they'd been through. It was the happiest day of his life as well. But now, he wished that he'd thrown it out. Most days, he forced himself to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. But now, it was almost as if he couldn't hide from it no matter how hard he tried.

_Ethan…_

He immediately thought about Rachel and what it felt like to kiss her again. But it didn't work like it used to. His pain was escalating and a kiss was no longer enough to cover it up. It felt like something was ripping its way up from his chest and into his throat. He had no choice but to succumb to the pain.

A sudden scream retched from his chest as he fell to the floor. The tears that flowed from his eyes had been uncried for far too long. For the first time since he held Theresa's lifeless body after pulling her from the ocean, he allowed himself to feel the anguish. But it was too much. He felt like he was dying. Screaming alone into his empty house, he rolled himself up into a fetal position at the foot of the bed.

"Oh god," he moaned.

He could feel it all descending on him now. Everything he'd been avoiding until that moment came crashing down on him. The sound of her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes, the warmth and electric current of her skin, the humming noise she accidentally let slip through her lips when he made love to her, the way she closed her eyes when she ate something she loved, the flush of her cheeks after a shower, or even the tension he felt in her kiss when they made up after an argument.

As if he were caught between two enclosing walls, he felt like he was being crushed alive. The memories were too much, too fast. For months, they were unmentionable, unthinkable. Now, they were inescapable.

"I—I can't," he sobbed into the empty room. "I just—I just can't take this. _Please_," he begged to no one in particular.

Perhaps he was pleading for god to spare him the pain. Perhaps he was asking Theresa to leave him alone. Perhaps he was asking his brain to simply stop working. Perhaps he was wishing for his own death. Perhaps he was asking for the recent months' events to rewind themselves.

And perhaps he was asking for it all with one word.

Suddenly he began asking himself how he'd managed to survive the days without her for so long. He wasn't sure that he'd last another minute, let alone an hour in such pain. He couldn't focus, could barely breathe. Everything inside of him was screaming for Theresa. But she was gone. Forever.

Death was coming, Ethan knew it. He couldn't imagine any worse pain that what he was feeling. If death didn't take him soon to end the pain, he knew that his sanity would leave him—if there was much left to leave in the first place. His hands went to his temples, squeezing down and mentally pleading with himself to think of anything that might neutralize the waves of crushing pain. Nothing worked. Death was sure to come for him.

"Ethan…"

His heart stopped and his eyes snapped open. No. It couldn't have been. He didn't hear that. It was all in his mind, just like before.

Focusing on nothing else, Ethan listened hard into the silence. The pulsing in the room echoed his rapid heartbeat and the quick rhythm of the breath escaping his lips. His ears perked up, almost scanning the room for any unexpected sound.

He felt like he was losing his mind. Ever since he saw Theresa's casket go into the ground at St. Mary's Cemetery, he had begun hearing her voice. Most of the time, it was only a whisper of his name. At first, he wasn't quite sure that he was hearing anything at all. Someone was playing a cruel joke at his expense, he thought. But as the days went on, at all hours, whenever her memory was sharpest in his mind, he would hear her voice clear in his head.

But this was different. This was a sound surrounding him completely; no whisper brushing past his ear, no second guesses as to what he was hearing, if anything at all.

She was speaking to him.

"Theresa…?" he asked out hesitantly.

But nothing answered. There was only silence.

Minutes went by and Ethan sat still, the tears on his face drying. He was too shocked to cry, to shocked to feel anything but anxiety and fear. He wasn't quite sure what he was afraid. Perhaps he was afraid that he had finally gone insane and was beginning to not only hear things, but that he was having full on auditory hallucinations that he couldn't differentiate between what was reality and what wasn't.

Ethan weighed the different options in his head of what he thought could have happened as the minutes of silence ticked by. He considered the option of having finally died. Maybe the pain he felt was so great that it caused his heart to burst, to break physically.

But silence continued to surround him. There were no voices, real or otherwise.

Minutes turned into more minutes and finally an hour went by. Ethan was still sitting at the foot of his bed. He was straining his ears to focus on any sound. He began thinking that he'd gone deaf when he finally caught the sound of a siren in the far distance.

She was gone.

Suddenly, a rogue idea occurred. For reasons that Ethan couldn't explain, he felt as if he'd lost something. If she had truly spoken to him, what if it had been the last time? What if she was speaking to him? And now she wasn't. He toyed with the idea and bounced it around in the silence of his bedroom. And finally, he took action.

For months, Ethan had tried to anesthetize himself. He refused to feel. After Theresa's funeral, he tried it all. From sleeping pills, to prescription-drug highs, to street-drug highs, to alcohol, to intense exercise, new hobbies, he'd tried it all to distract himself. None of it worked.

The sleeping pills knocked him out, yes. However, they also induced vivid dreams that were more fantasy-skewed memories than completely fictional. He once dreamt that Theresa's death hadn't been real at all. Instead, it was some kind of governmental scheme concocted to bring a hardened Mexican mafia queen out of hiding. In the dream, Theresa had shown up at his door step and explained the entire thing. She explained how it was against her will and how much she hated not being able to get to him. But in the end, she was home and she was alive. Needless to say, Ethan never took the sleeping pills again.

Then afraid to sleep for fear of confronting dreams and more memories of Theresa, Ethan began a self-induced insomnia routine. He'd keep himself awake by taking caffeine pills, drinking countless Redbulls and Monsters, and cold showers. One day, however, he ended up in the emergency room after he collapsed on his way out to retrieve the mail. His neighbor called an ambulance immediately and he was rushed to the hospital. It turned out that Ethan had successfully managed to keep himself awake for an unhealthy 137 hours. After nearly six days without sleep, his brain was beginning to shut down and he was severely damaging his entire body in the process.

The doctors were afraid that Ethan was going to continue in his downward spiral in his depression, or rather, lack thereof. He was depressed and rather than coping by extreme measures as other patients did, Ethan was simply trying to push it away by whatever means necessary. He was prescribed lithium so that his depression wouldn't get the better of him and, the doctors thought, it might even help him accept the death of his beloved Theresa.

Ethan quickly realized, however, that lithium, if taken in greater dosages than prescribed, turned him into a drooling lump. He took double the amount allotted one night. The next morning, after his system recovered, he woke to find that he'd vomited on himself and his ears were making a distant ringing noise. The sound, however, seemed to be coming from inside his head. When he tried to stand to wipe the vomit from his shirt, he almost fell face flat against the floor. He could barely control his body movements. Though, he realized, that the lithium did wipe out hours of his life and reduced him to a vegetable, he knew he would severely hurt himself if he did it again.

The bottle came next. It was easy. All Ethan had to do was stop at his nearest grocery or liquor store and pick a nice big and cheap bottle of alcohol. His preference was for brandy, scotch, and wine, but for the sole purpose of wiping his mind clear for a few hours, he didn't care what it tasted like. He forwent the expensive bottles that he'd grown accustomed to and chose the cheapest and biggest bottle of vodka he could find. Not willing to suffer completely through the ordeal, Ethan stuck the bottle in the freezer for a while. And then he began drinking.

He drank quickly, the liquid burning his throat despite being properly chilled. He used no chaser, no lime, nothing to wipe the terrible fire that poured down the back of his throat. He used the dreadful sensation as a gauge. He decided that when he could no longer feel the burn, he had consumed just about the right amount. But drinking as fast as he was, Ethan had finished about 20 oz of vodka before the burning subsided. And by that point, there was nothing he could do to prevent the impending pain.

The alcohol made certain memories play in his mind more than he'd wished. But it also made everything around him blurry. By the time his liver had caught up to the alcohol he'd consumed, his brainstem was quite numb. The hangover that followed, however, he was not numb to.

He had basically drunk himself into oblivion. So inebriated, Ethan began hallucinating and talking to himself with a slurred tongue. He didn't remember the next morning, of course. Then again, with the abuse he'd put his body through, the hangover left him in pain just blinking.

For three days, Ethan's body was in recovery. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk, couldn't think, could barely breathe. He'd managed to lift himself from the couch to lay in his bed. The few feet he walked felt like he was walking through all seven circles of hell right alongside Dante himself. He collapsed in bed and didn't move unless it was absolutely necessary. And for three days, he couldn't distract himself and his memories came back with a vengeance. He laid in physical and emotional agony for days. And he never drank that much again.

As soon as he was able, Ethan was walking around with a residual migraine from the left over sugars in his bloodstream. Food repulsed him still, but he was able to move. He used his mobility to his advantage and took to his gym shoes. Ethan stepped on the treadmill ready to rid his body of toxins and stress. And as he ran, he could only think about Theresa watching from the door way with an ice cold glass of water waiting for him. So he pressed the incline higher and increased the speed.

After not having eaten much for three days, with sugars and toxins still pumping in his body at abnormal levels, with the way he was pushing his body, Ethan couldn't understand just what he was doing to his muscles.

Memory after memory invaded his mind as his body worked faster and faster. His heart pumped quicker, his blood moved harder, and his mind was working faster. Memories came and went and he kept increasing speed and incline. Soon his calves and thighs were burning. It was as if he were running up a steep set of stairs at double his normal running speed. His diaphragm could barely keep up with the amount of oxygen needed in his body. And just like every other distraction had failed him, Ethan's strength eventually gave out and he fell. His legs twisted against the moving treadmill until he fell against the floor behind him. His only rewards of his new distraction were the burns and cuts caused by the treadmill all over his hands and legs.

Cooking class was next. Everyone that showed up seemed to be in a pair, though. And when Ethan showed up alone, Theresa's absence was even more pronounced.

Eventually, Ethan had one final and last resort. He thought that if he could distract himself with another woman, perhaps the memory of Theresa would fade just enough to not seem so incredibly painful. Ethan asked an attractive woman he saw at a local bookstore out for dinner. She agreed and they shared a pleasant and productive evening. For a while, Ethan even really allowed himself to enjoy the woman's company. It was halfway through dessert when he realized it; there was no Theresa.

Her memory was gone when he was with the other woman. But as he thought about her, a gaping wound in his defense mechanisms showed clear. Theresa let herself back in with a stronger force than before. As if her memory was jealous, Theresa's voice would get stronger and louder in his ears. At that point, not only was her memory haunting him, but her voice was as well.

Sometimes he could swear that he heard her whisper his name as if she were standing next to him. That night, Ethan was shaken by the new voice in his head. He wasn't sure if going out with another woman was indeed such a good idea. But then he remembered how he had been free of his usual sorrow while at dinner. So he invited the woman out for a second date later that week. In between the dates, Ethan was alone with his mind. He hated being alone. It was when he was most vulnerable.

Finally when the date came along, again, as if by magic, Theresa disappeared for a short while. He did not think about her and did is best to escape any topic that might bring her to the forefront of his mind.

That night, when he dropped his date off at her door, she took initiative and kissed him. There was a raw response in Ethan's mind immediately. He'd been without physical contact with a woman for far too long. But at the same time, he'd always been afraid that it would only remind him of Theresa. But as he kissed the woman, the voice in his head was nowhere to be seen or heard. So he kissed her back. The kiss turned into enough that it deemed going inside.

That night, as he moved against the woman, pressing himself into her, he was able to completely forget everything. Not only was he happy that Theresa's voice was not in his head, but it seemed for a brief moment that she didn't really exist. He was free. Finally.

And that is how it began.

At first, Ethan began seeking out woman wherever he went. But the ritual of dating and dinner was getting tedious. Theresa was growing stronger and she was taunting him with her words and images whenever possible. Being in another woman's company was no longer enough. He needed physical contact.

After Ethan made it through the first few dates with a new woman, sex—his goal—was finally had. And he found bliss in a way. It was about more than just physical gratification. Ethan was another person when he was with another woman. He was able to feel like himself again. There was still a hole in his heart that was created the day Theresa died, and it would never be filled, but when his naked skin was pressed against another woman, it felt as if it were almost covered.

A few of the woman considered Ethan to be their new boyfriend, possibly a man of their future. But Ethan couldn't do that. After the second or third time of spending the night with them, the Theresa wounds were coming back up to the surface. So Ethan moved on to a new woman as a hermit crab changes its shell.

He'd never done it before, but Ethan found himself at Brazen one afternoon. He'd heard the rumors around town that it was discreetly a brothel. He couldn't be sure, though. It was a strip club and he wasn't quite sure who to ask or even what to say to get what he wanted. He sat at the bar, glancing up at the dancing women a few times. He was careful with how much alcohol he ordered and his eyes wandered around looking for any signs of underground prostitution as if there would be a FOR SALE sign somewhere.

As Ethan turned back to face the bar, he noticed that the bartender was nodding at him while looking at a woman across the club. She walked over quickly. Ethan immediately noticed that she was easily the oldest in the entire place. Her body, though aged and most likely beginning to loosen in some areas, was clearly one used to spinning around poles.

"Hey," she greeted Ethan. "What you doing here?"

Ethan took a sip of his T&T and looked at her questioningly. "Sorry?"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she asked, a tension popping into her voice.

Ethan motioned to the drink in his hand. "Having a drink," he admitted innocently.

The woman stared at him with squinted eyes. "Let me see your ID." She snapped her fingers and bended her hand at the knuckles in summons.

"You can't be serious." Ethan hadn't been carded since he was 24 and he was definitely past looking younger than 21.

The woman snapped again and Ethan produced the card from his wallet. She stared at the ID and looked back up to Ethan again and again, double checking the face. Finally, she looked behind him to the bartender. He shrugged and Ethan was beginning to get worried.

"I'll be right back, Mr. Winthrop," the woman said.

She disappeared behind a curtained doorway on the other side of the club.

Ethan was on edge and wasn't able to finish the rest of his drink as he waited for the return of his ID. Minutes later, the older woman reemerged and came at him, this time slower than before. She handed him his card back with a smile.

"Sorry 'bout that," she said sincerely. "Just always suspicious of new customers. It's hard to tell who's a cop these days, you know?" She smiled a sweet smile. "I'm Sandy, owner and manager."

Ethan nodded to himself as he realized that she was the Madame. So the rumors were true…

"Listen, I don't like to run around bushes. So I'm just going to ask. Are you here for a drink and a peek? Or did you come for some other kind of entertainment?"

Ethan's eyes did a dance. He wasn't quite sure how to answer. For all he knew, the woman could have been cop trying to ensnare a felon for engaging in prostitution.

"Uh…," he stuttered. "I… don't really drink anymore."

Sandy smiled the sweet smile again. Clearly she had years of experience of smiling at customers just the way they liked. She took a step back and bent her hand at the knuckles again to beckon him follow her. Ethan did as he was beckoned.

That night, Sandy opened up Ethan's world to Allison. Without pretense of dinner and dating rituals, Ethan lost himself quicker and found that when he woke in the morning, the voices and memories had left him. From then on, Ethan needed Brazen like nothing else before. He needed the mental clarity and the moments without wanting to scream in agony. And so the regular visits to Brazen began.

But now he found himself at the foot of his bed without the voices in his head. For the first time since Theresa's death, he was alone and not being pelted with memories for his lack of distraction. The shock at the realization struck him deeply.

Theresa was gone.

After a few seconds of confusion passed, panic began to set in.

Theresa was gone.

Ethan couldn't take it.

Purposefully, Ethan began conjuring up memories. He forced himself to remember what it was like to watch Theresa walk down the aisle to him. The texture of the lilies in her hands, the way her smile seemed to cast rainbows into the light. Their first date, proposing marriage to her, teddy bears, laughing, kissing, touching, the wharf, tears, joy, happiness… And she was still gone.

With nothing else left, afraid that he was sincerely alone, Ethan tried something he couldn't even believe. The night after they finally thought they were married flooded into his memory slowly. He pulled each second into his brain carefully, waiting for the fall, for the destruction it would cause.

Their honeymoon night was something he never brought up with himself. He couldn't stand the pain. He lingered on the details of the way she looked in the flowing lingerie he'd bought her. She had sipped her champagne with a knowing smile of what was to come. Ethan remembered how her mouth puckered around a ripe strawberry covered in chocolate. His fingers had lightly unbuttoned the nightgown and he'd slid it off her shoulders to reveal her perfectly toned back. And when they made love that night, it was as if they never had before. It was the most intense, most affectionate, most real and emotional it had ever been.

Ethan opened his eyes, one eye and then the other. He was waiting for the crushing sensation to take hold upon his chest. He was waiting for that moment when he thought he would die. He wanted it back. And though crazy, he wanted to hear Theresa's voice.

Finally he understood something. He had been trying to escape memories of her, he tried to poison and wash her out of his system. But only half-heartedly. Because he knew that despite what he did, she would never be truly gone. And he took comfort in that. He lost himself against the bodies of strange women and did whatever he could to distract himself of the lingering memories. But a part of him knew that she would always be with him.

A part of him knew that even though he could temporarily numb the pain, he'd never be free of it. And he didn't want to be free of Theresa. He just wanted to be able to think about her without wanting to die in the process.

And it seemed that he'd finally been granted his wish.

He could think about her and not want to die from the pain it caused. But that meant that she was truly gone. And it hurt worse than even the best memories ever did.

Theresa was gone. She was really gone.

Then the pain came. It was the same pain that Ethan felt the day he held Theresa in his arms. When he knew that her eyes would never open again, that her skin would never be warm again, that her cheeks would never flush again, that her heart would never beat again. It was as if Theresa had died again.

Ethan couldn't take it.

When Theresa died in Mexico, Ethan had been granted a sort of grace. He was in a foreign country, surrounded by Theresa's family. He had pieces of her around him. Her suitcases still held her clothes and her personal items. He was given the opportunity to slowly learn to deal with her death. All of a sudden, Theresa had died again and he was alone. He was utterly alone and surrounded by her memories, by her belongings, by her hideous furniture choices, her picture.

The tears falling from Ethan's eyes went unnoticed as he stood up. He wrapped his hand around the picture on his dresser. The day she'd been so happy, the day they'd both been their happiest… She looked so alive in the picture, so fresh, so young, so full of promise. And she was completely gone now.

He didn't have her body to cry over, he didn't have her mother sitting behind him and telling him stories of her childhood, he didn't have the funeral to solidify the reality. All he had was loss and emptiness. It was as if she had just been standing in front of him completely alive and then suddenly snatched as Persephone had been stolen away by Hades.

"NO!" he screamed.

Ethan's veins were on fire suddenly. He threw the picture he was holding to the floor as hard as he could, the glass shattering instantly. Possessed by nothing less than the Furies, Ethan spun around and tore the blankets from the bed—Theresa's bed. He whipped the comforter across the room and punched the pillows as she flung them feet away at the windows. If he hadn't been so blinded by anger and panic, he might have thrown the mattress through the front door.

The tirade continued through the hallway as Ethan ripped pictures off the walls, trinkets and bobs that Theresa had purchased long ago. Every room he stepped into had some kind of remnant of Theresa's touch. Pictures, lamps, blinds, curtains, clocks, anything Ethan could grab was thrown off the walls and onto the floor, smashing with glass and plastic around his feet.

As he went through the kitchen and threw out the occupants of the refrigerator, he once again tried to conjure up Theresa's memory. It was no use. Every memory passed his brain as if it didn't mean as much as it did. Every memory was supposed to cut at his soul, slice at his heart. And yet, he was feeling nothing of the sort. Something was wrong.

"Theresa, please! Come back!"

For months, he had refused to say her name. He couldn't bear it. It was too much. Her name was tied to her memory and her memory was nothing but pain because she was gone. Now she was gone and there was no pain. Ethan felt ashamed. He had lost her.

Not even memories of their honeymoon was doing the trick. Nothing worked. Their first date, kisses on the wharf, making love in the grass under a sky lit with stars, looking into her eyes and realizing for the first time that he was in love with her… the emptiness echoed through him like a hollow.

Ethan knew there was one place where he could truly be close to her. If her memory didn't work, he would go to the source. He had to be as close to her as possible. And then he was positive that she would return. He realized that he needed her memory to live. Without it, he wouldn't survive. Without the reminder that he once possessed the greatest love, he would surely wither and die in the coming winds.

Without another thought, Ethan grabbed his keys and yanked the front door open. He was about to run to his car and attempt to fly to his destination in his haste. He stopped abruptly before he walked right into the body waiting for him to open the door.

"Ethan…," she said, a kind of relief washing into her voice.

Ethan could only stare at the petite brunette in confusion. Her eyes seemed to melt as she looked at him, a kindness flooding into them. They locked eyes and he waited for some kind of explanation, but it wouldn't come. She only stared back at him in a mirrored confusion.

"Rachel, what are you doing here?"

______


End file.
